Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the TV series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Watching the Game

They had intercepted the feed that was sent to Sherlock and Scotland Yard. They were in Mycroft's office. The older of the Holmes brothers had his back turned to the screen, not because the images disturbed him, but because his eyes were burning from the strain. They were going on thirty six hours without sleep, both him and his assistants.

The entire city was on high alert and his people worked around the clock. They had already prevented one woman from being strapped into a bomb-vest and there was thick security around targets such as the Palace and the Parliament or Downing Street, wards or no wards. Those were areas they could not afford to have compromised. So they watched and waited. Mycroft, just like Sherlock, had his own informants, his very own network of people under close observation. But unlike his brother, Mycroft and his people knew who some of Moriarty's men were.

"Just like you said, we had a positive sighting for Moran," Anthea said to the green eyed man standing next to her.

"Where?" the wizard asked.

"We found his signature in a home invasion gone wrong type of case. He entered via Ireland and is making his way to London," Anthea said.

The raven haired man nodded. "He has not arrived yet. Or if he has he's not approached Jim Moriarty, not directly."

"He's still playing boyfriend to that girl at Saint Bart's'," the Muggle woman asked.

"He's still toying with Sherlock," Mycroft said from behind them.

Neither of his assistants started.

"I want updates on the situation. If you find anything at all, run it by me. I'll tell you what and if we're going to share information with the police," Mycroft warned the room at large. "The last thing we need is to spread panic. We are at a sensitive time. A single sign of weakness will harm us more than you can imagine." He met his magical assistant's eyes. "If possible, we help my brother. If he's a hindrance, we work around him. Carry on," he said and left the room.

"He's tense," Anthea remarked.

"Yes, he must be."

She stared at him. "You've known him longer. Is Moriarty that dangerous? We could take him out. Just come near enough and …"

"And take him out?" the wizard asked.

The woman nodded.

"Hm, that is simple, but also sloppy," Mycroft's assistant told her. "There's a bigger picture and that doesn't involve just Sherlock and Moriarty, or their games, or even London."

"With him there's always a bigger picture," Anthea sighs.

"We've got another one!" came the call from some of the operators. "It's a child!"

A dark look crossed the wizards face.

"What a sick man," Anthea muttered angrily and walked over to her colleague.

But the wizard ignored her in favour of another subordinate. "You! I want a list of all people that had the explosives that made up those bomb-vests now."

"Yes sir!"

The least he could do was put those idiots out of business. It was out of pettiness really. But seeing the child on that on line feed… If Sherlock did not save her he would take out Moriarty himself, orders be damned. You just did not involve kids in adult games. In the wizard's book, all bets were off now. If he saw Moriarty and his minions, they would die. Mycroft would understand and probably condone his actions, after his initial displeasure passed.

He was still stewing in his anger when he went to give the man that was essentially the British Government his report.

"If looks could kill," Mycroft commented when he saw the wizard in his office. "Shut the door." He reached for the report and his own eyes darkened. "A child, huh? Did my brother…"

"He was on time," the green eyed man said. "But that does not matter to me."

Mycroft pinned him with a hard look. "You want them dead."

"Yes."

"You're not allowed to just hunt them down," was the quick command. "I don't doubt you could find them. I never doubted your abilities, Harry."

"Don't…"

"I will use your name if it makes you listen."

"He got a child strapped to a bomb," the wizard seethed.

"I know. But we can't just take him out. He's one head of the Hydra, Harry. We cut this head off, and then we won't know what the others will do. We don't know if he has an apprentice, a successor, how he started, who are his supporters. There are still a lot of gaps, despite the surveillance."

"I know all that! Just…" the raven haired male took a deep breath. "It just made my temper rise. It's been a while since someone got under my skin this much. Won't happen again."

"That just won't do," Mycroft told him. "I never wanted you to change so don't know. I think I am level headed enough for the both of us."

The wizard laughed. "Yes, you are better at creating masks than I am."

"What makes you think I am not calm?" Mycroft asked.

"Despite what you want the rest of the world out there to believe," Harry told him, " You and I are not so different. You might be a better tactician at the end of the day, and you can better handle your temper, but you're still human, Mycroft. And at times, you are more human than me."

"Funny, that's what I think about you," the Muggle replied. "Minus the tactical genius. You are a man of action, not thought."

The wizard chuckled. "Isn't that the truth?"

Mycroft watched him. "Do you need a minute?"

The green eyed man shook his head. "I better get out there. I'll keep you informed if we have any news." He eyed the paperwork on the desk.

"Yes," Mycroft had a look of distaste. "Just because Moriarty wants to play games, the rest of the world won't stop moving."

"I'll leave you to it."

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